Lincoln's first love : a true story

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CARRIE DOUG LAS
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' WRIGHT, CARRIE

1. 51 p. gilt
edges

2. 51 P.

3. 1920,

1 ^7 PP.

LINCOLN NATIONAL %%
LIFE FOUNDATION

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EXLIBEIS

WILLIAM-A-CAEB

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Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2010 with funding from

State of Indiana through the Indiana State Library

http://www.archive.org/details/lincolnsfirstlov2550wrig

LINCOLN'S FIRST LOVE

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LINCOLN'S
FIRST LOVE

ATri/e Story

BY

CARRIE DOUGLAS
WRIGHT

CAicago

ACMcCLURG&CO

I901

~^m m^

Copyright

By A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1901

Lincoln's fivgt lobe

WO miles south of Peters-
burg, in the state of Illi-
nois, are the hills of New
Salem, picturesque and
beautiful; yet with all
their picturesqueness and beauty, they
would probably never have gained more
than local fame had not Abraham Lin-
coln there spent his earlv life and met
his first love.

Just west of the Sangamon River is
the hill on which the little town of New
Salem was built. It is very steep and
rugged until you reach the summit,
where it is comparatively level. The
view from this hill is one of the most
beautiful in Illinois. At its foot stands
the old mill, long since still, as are the

9

3LimoIn'g tfitgt Hotoe

hands that there changed thegolden grain
into snowy flakes of flour. The noisy dam
rushes and roars, disturbing the quiet
and peace of the forsaken place. Not a
vestige of the little town of New Salem
remains. Two forest trees spread their
protecting arms over the sod where once
stood Abraham Lincoln's little store.
Upon one of these trees some skillful
hand has carved his firm, kind features.

Lift up your heads, O stately trees ;

Flow on, O shining river!
Your fame shall live with Lincoln's name,

In freedom's breast forever.

Early in the thirties, when Indians
roamed the prairies of Illinois, and herds
of deer lapped the sparkling water of
the rivers, a young man who was des-
tined to become one of the greatest,
if not the greatest man this country

10

IUncoln'0 f ir£t Sotoe

has produced, came to New Salem to
dwell among the hills. He was a most
unattractive lad, with trousers of jean,
and homespun jacket, not well fitted to
his lean, lank form. One of the first
persons to make friends with Lincoln
was Mintor Graham, the village school-
master. This man was fond of books
and learning, and he was not long in
interesting Abe, who was most grateful
for the instruction Mr. Graham freely
and gladly gave him. Lincoln was very
fond of arithmetic, and to his teacher's
delight, mastered the tables and learned
to do sums as well as the brightest
scholar in his school. Grammar was
the next study taken up by the young
student, and he was seldom seen with-
out a book in his hand. Abe, as he
was familiarly called, opened a store of
general merchandise and groceries. His

ii

HincoltV£ tfim Hobe

genial manner and his honesty won for
him many friends, and he was quite
successful in his business.

3? * H* * H:

Each morning, with neatly braided
hair, a frock of. homespun reaching
to her ankles, a plain waist of the
same brown material buttoned down
the back, a little blue sunbonnet tied
under her chin, Ann Rutledge tripped
away to school. She was a general
favorite, and lucky was the lad who
discovered the first wild rose on the
hillside to pin on the border of her
little bonnet.

Ann was full of sentiment ; in the
wild flowers that grew on the hillside,
in the song of the thrush, in the gold
of the sunset, she read lessons that
afforded her delights of which her com-
panions knew nothing.

12

Hincoln^ tfirgt Hotoe

Mintor Graham was a tall, sinewy
man, with sandy hair, and small, sharp
features. He was rather stern; any
scholar who was guilty of idleness or
levity was recalled to a sense of duty
by a single glance of the master's
eye.

The schoolhouse was a primitive
structure of logs and mud plaster, with a
huge chimney and a great fireplace.
Often when the hickory logs burned
bright, fantastic shadows of the master
were reflected on the walls, causing the
smaller boys to nudge each other in
great merriment. Each window con-
tained but four small panes of glass,
the seats were slabs supported by four
wooden pegs, the only desk was the
teacher's one, a rudely constructed affair,
at which the pupils took turns at writ-
ing. Abe Lincoln was greatly interested

13

Hincoln'0 f ir£t Hotoe

in Mr. Graham's school — and in one
scholar in particular, Ann Rutledge.
She had not passed his store twice a day,
to and from school, unnoticed. Often
he would catch himself glancing at the
clock, wondering if it was not time for
school to be out, and he would listen
for the footsteps of the little maid, who
was slowly, but surely, creeping into
his heart.

He saw the face of Ann Rutledge in
everything that grew. Were not the
nuts on the hillside the same brown as
her soulful eyes, the cardinal flower the
red of her lips, the haw blossoms like
her fair brow, and the sunlight on the
stream was it not as Ann's bright smile?
Little wonder the young man thought
of her all day, and dreamed of her by
night.

Yet this man, who in after years
u

Hincoln'g f it$t Hobe

faced unflinchingly the greatest dangers,
had not the courage to tell this child,
who belonged to nature, just as the
violet or anemone, that he loved her.

One day, as Abe sat musing in his
store, his thoughts turned to Ann.
Oh, if he could only protect her in the
years to come from the storms of life,
as the great oak. protects the little flower
that grows so closely by it. His
reveries were abruptly disturbed by a
lad, who thrust his head in at the door,
with: "Say, Abe, thar's a boat a-sink-
in' down thar in the river nigh the
dam."

Lincoln, taking his hat, locked the
store, and went to the scene of trouble.
He found the boat about to sink, but
with his unusual strength, he managed
to get it over the dam ; then, by boring a
hole, and tipping the boat back, he let

15

ftmcofa^ f im Sotoe

the water out. On hearing of the
excitement, Mr. Graham considered the
event of sufficient importance to make
him dismiss school.

The pupils were not long in reaching
the scene. Ann trembled with fear
when she saw Abe in what she con-
sidered a most dangerous position.

She waited anxiously until he was
safe ashore. The shadows were now
gathering, and together the two walked
slowly up the hill.

" I thought sure you would be
drowned, Abe/' said Ann.

" Would you have cared if I had
been? " replied he.

" Oh, Abe, I should feel dreadful to
see any one drowned."

Mrs. Rutledge was in a state of
great excitement when they reached the
house.

16

Xincoln'g f irgt Sotoe

<f Why, Ann, you 're mighty late,
'pears like; where hev you bin, honey?"

" Down to the river, ma, watching
Abe let the water out of a flatboat, and
it in danger of sinking all the time."

" I hain't got no time to hear tell of
flatboats nor nuthin' now, Ann. Dad 's
goin' to St. Louis to-morrie, and we
got a heap to do. Sit down, Abe, I
forgot my manners, I 'm so stirred up
over dad's goin'."

" I '11 go back to the store, I guess,"
said Abe; "you're all so busy. I'll
come to-morrow evening, Ann, at five
o'clock. Will vou borrow Mr. Gra-
ham's grammar ? then we can study
together."

" I 'm glad dada 's going to St.
Louis," she said, " for he will get me a
Kirkham's grammar, so we won't have
to borrow any more. We can write our

17

Hincoin'£ f v&t Hobe

lessons to-morrow evening. Jim Arm-
strong climbed a big oak tree, got some
ink galls, and made me as much as a
pint of ink, I guess. Don't you think
that was kind of Jim ?"

Abe thought so ; in fact, he thought
it too kind of Jim.

Mr. Rutledge was up at daybreak
next morning, and with " prairie
schooner" filled with deer pelts, started
at snail's pace for St. Louis.

All day Abe was busy in his store,
drawing molasses, measuring calico, or
weighing carpet chain, but not for a mo-
ment did he forget the hazel eyes of Ann
Rutledge. More than once he stopped
to listen to the thrush, which seemed to
sing her praises; while the robin's sweet
song expressed his heart's love so ten-
derly, he tried to form into words its
tremulous notes. At last the hands of

18

Xtncoin'0 jpirgt 3totoe

the little wooden clock on the wall, with
its weights hanging down, pointed to the
hour of five. Abe stepped to the mir-
ror and looked at his plain, honest face;
for the first time in his life, he wished
he were a different looking man. He
brushed his stubborn locks from his
broad forehead, picked up his slouch
hat, and sauntered out, leaving store,
business, and care behind. Ann met
him at her mother's door.

" Come in, Abe, and be careful that
you don't fall; the floor is pretty slick,
ma's just finished scrubbing it."

The floor was clean and white, having
been scrubbed with soft soap and hick-
ory ashes. Ann handed him a gourd
of cold spring water from the piggin on
the bench.

" Did vou get the grammar, Ann P"
asked Abe.

19

3lincoln'£ tfir$t Jlotoe

"Of course I did; I knew you were
coming to study."

They were soon in the midst of the
intricacies of the verb " to love."

" First person, I love."

"You love who, Ann?" asked he.

" Not Jim Armstrong," said Ann, as
she glanced mischievously from her
book.

Time passed rapidlv, and they were
in the midst of their lesson when Mrs.
Rutledge called:

" Honey, you must come and help
ma now. Set the table for supper."

Reluctantly she pushed back her
chair and began her task. On the
hearth glowed the bright hickory em-
bers ; to the right on the trevet was a
pot of aromatic coffee, a Dutch oven
to the left, in which two canvasback
ducks were simmering in savory gravv

20

Jlincoln'g f ir£t Hotoe

and rich dressing. Swinging on the crane
over the blazing logs was a kettle of jowl
and hominy. On a board in front of
the fire was a row of browning johnny-
cakes. Ann spread the homespun
cloth, white as snow, and put in its
place each blue plate, cup, saucer, and
pewter spoon. When she opened the
cupboard she was surprised to find a
large gourd of wild honey.

" Why, ma, where did you get this
honey? "

" Uncle Lige Watkins robbed a bee
tree this mornin', and Betsey brung that
over," her mother answered. " Put it
on fer supper. I 'low Abe would like
some with his johnnycake. "

"Supper 's ready now, is n't it, ma? "
asked Ann.

"Yes, but Dave hain't come yit. I
wonder what diviltry he's up to."

21

Jtincoin^ f it$t Hotoe

" He 's coming up the hill now," said
Ann; "and what is that he has? Why-
ma, it 's a wild turkey ! "

" Bless my heart, if it ain't!"

As he entered", Dave threw the bird
down at the door, saying : " Ma, there 's
a present fer ye. Bob Clary went out
huntin' and shot six; he sent this one to
you. Guess he had an eye to Ann."

" Ah, hurry up thar, Dave ! Quit
your foolin' and git ready for supper,"
said his mother.

He washed his hands in a basin that
stood on a bench just outside the door,
and came in bringing a few small sticks,
which he threw on the fire.

" Hullo, Abe ! I spose you 're so
taken up with that book you can't speak
to a body; you and Ann will be such
scholards, common folks will be afeared
to speak to ye."

22

Jtincoln^ f ir£t Slofce

All did ample justice to the supper,
after which the young students returned
to their book, and studied until nine
o'clock, when Abe arose to go.

" I've stayed too late," said he. " I
hope I have n't kept you up, Mrs.
Rutledge," as he noticed she was dozing
over her knitting in the chimney corner.

" Oh, no ! I hain't sleepy," she
replied, with a yawn. " I'sejust thinkin'
uv him, wonderin' if he's getting along
with them thar hides all right."

"Don't worry," said Abe; "Mr.
Rutledge can take care of himself.
Good night, all," and he lazily strolled
down to his lonely quarters. Not a
sound could he hear but the beating of
his own heart, and the calling of a whip-
poor-will to his mate from the willows
which fringed the river banks.

Nearly four weeks had passed, and
23

3Uncoln'£ tfim %o\yt

Mr. Rutledge had not returned. Ann
and her mother were anxious, since
they knew the dangers to which a lone
traveler was subject on that perilous
route. The barking of wolves was a
familiar sound, and these ferocious
animals had been known to pursue
travelers. And while Dave related
thrilling stories of wild cats and pan-
thers, he generally ended by laughing
at his mother and sister for feeling
anxious.

" Now, you bet dad's all right; there
hain't nuthin' goin' to hurt him."

" Ma, the Clarys have invited Dave
and me over to-morrow night," said
Ann; " they are going to have a party.
The Potters, Armstrongs, and Greens
will all be there. May I go ? '

" Wal, I hain't no objections," said her
mother, "if you git that spinnin' done.

24

itincoln^ f tr^t Siotoe

I 'lowed you 'd git right smart done
afore a-Saturday night."

" Well, so I will, ma. You know I
can work fast when I once get at it."

The next morning Ann was at her
wheel bright and early. She never
looked prettier; her face wore a happy
smile, her slender form bending grace-
fully as she stepped forward and back-
ward, while from the distaff in her hand
she spun yards and yards of flax. The
low hum of the wheel made a most har-
monious accompaniment to the serious,
happy thoughts woven into the threads
she was spinning. She was thinking of
Abe, wondering if he cared for her very
much, wondering if he was going to
Springfield, not to return, as the neigh-
bors said. " I shall ask him," she
thought to herself, " and shall not let
him know that I care, if he does

25

mncota'je? tfitgt atobe

say he is going. Abe is n't as good-
looking as Jim Armstrong or Bob
Clary, either. I like him, though, a
great deal better than any of the other
boys. But no one shall ever, ever
know it. I should n't care for the new
white dress, with blue ribbons, ma
promised me ; no, I should n't care for
anything, if he went away!" Just then
her mother came in, and Ann began to
sing merrily.

" I 'm working fast; don't you think I
am, ma? "

"Yes, honey; you've done a heap
to-day."

Four weeks from the day Mr. Rut-
ledge left home, just as the sun was
sinking, and the tinkle of old Bun-
dle's bell came closer and closer, as
she slowly wended her way up the hill,
Mrs. Rutledge stepped to the door

26

Hincoln'g f irgt Hotoe

with the milk-pail in her hand. In the
dim distance she saw a team slowly
advancing.

" Come here, Dave ! ' said she.
" Hain't that your dad? Them horses
look powerful like Bob and Sam."

"Wal, if it hain't," said Dave, and
grabbing his hat he hurried out to meet
his father. It was not long before they
drove up the hill, and no one ever re-
ceived a heartier welcome than did Mr.
Rutledge on this home-coming. He
related many wonderful things that he
had seen in the great town of St. Louis.

" Why, ma, there wus hundreds of
people in the streets."

" Law, dad, you might have got run
over and killed," said his wife.

" I went to a circus, and seen a ele-
phant with a snout longer than my arm.
I give it some gingerbread, and be

27

Hincoln'g f ir£t Jlotoe

durned if the fool thing did n't know
me next day when they had it on the
street ! Now, here 's your book, Ann ;
this here eddication costs a heap o'
money. I paid a whole dollar fer that,
and you must learn every word in it."

Several months elapsed ; it was the day
before Christmas ; the Rutledge family,
except Ann, were up very early, as there
was much to be done. Mrs. Rutledge's
sister, Aunt Nancy Black, with her son
and daughter, was coming to spend a
week with them. Company was a rare
thing, and they had looked forward to
this visit with much pleasure. On
waking, Ann looked out to see the con-
dition of the weather; nothing was ever
more peaceful than the scene before her.
The Sangamon Valley and its surround-
ing hills, all white with a mantle of new-

28

flincoln'g f it$t Jtobe

fallen snow, sparkled and gleamed in
the first rays of the rising sun. The
little houses on the hillside were as so
many white altars, the smoke rising
from the chimneys like incense.

Ann dressed in a hurry, for she knew
it was late, and that her mother had been
up a long time. " Dear, unselfish ma,"
she said to herself; " how lazy I am to
lie in bed and let her get breakfast alone,
expecting company, too, this very day.
Ma will be all worn out by the time
Aunt Nancy comes."

" Well, Ann," said her father, " did
you sleep good ? Your ma hain't let
me and Dave speak, hardly, feared we 'd
wake you."

Soon Mr. Rutledge and Dave went
out to feed and milk the cows, and Mrs.
Rutledge and Ann busied themselves
about the house, planning for their visit-

29

Hmcoln^ f ir£t Hotoe

ors. About four o'clock in the afternoon
a bob-sled, drawn by two gray horses,
came briskly up the road.

"They are coming," said Ann.

By the time her mother reached the
door they had arrived.

" Well, Nancy, I 'm powerful glad
to see you," said Mrs. Rutledge; "and
is this here Johnny? Well, well, and
Becky, honey; I would n't ha' know'd
you. This is my Ann." Mrs. Black
gave her a hearty kiss on the lips.
Ann had not seen her cousins since
they were quite small. Mr. Rutledge
and Dave came in soon and greet-
ings were exchanged. As the Blacks
lived in Canton, they were looked on as
city folks. Becky was verv prettv, fair,
with blue eyes and light hair.

On Christmas day, Dave and Johnny
hitched up the bob-sled, gathered up

30

Hincoin'g f ir£t Eotoe

the young folks of the neighborhood,
about sixteen in all, and started off for
a jolly time. They were packed in
snugly. Abe sat by Ann and her fair
cousin. Becky had never looked so
pretty to Ann as she did then. When
the sun shone through her light curls
on her white face, Ann thought she was
really beautiful, and wondered if Abe
thought so, too.

Mrs. Rutledge and Mrs. Black were
left alone to enjoy a talk over old
times, as they sat by the bright, cheer-
ful fire.

" Say, Nancy, what ever becum of them
Joneses that used to live down in the
holler near us ? "

" Law, Becky, they hain't been thar
this long time; Manthy and Rachel and
Bob are all dead, and the house is well-
nigh gone to pieces; it is nuthin' like

31

Entering f im aiobe

it used to be, 'ceptin' the little brook
and the ellum trees. I could name our
old friends that 's livin' in shorter time
than 't would take me to tell you of all
them as is gone, Becky. There hain't
nuthin' sure in this world, and I don't
care much fer nuthin' since he 's gone,"
she said, wiping away a tear with the
corner of her apron. "If 'twern't fer
Becky and Johnny I 'd just as soon fold
my hands in rest as not."

"Yes, Nancy; but it is fer Johnny
and Becky that you ought to cheer up.
God knows what is best fer us."

" But you 've got your man, Becky,
so you Ve the whole world."

" Well, I must say, Rutledge is power-
ful good to me. I believe I hear the
children a-comin'. Law, Nancy ! Come
and see 'em ! We can kinder live our
lives over through them. I 'm glad

32

atncoln^ first atobc

they 're havin' such a good time ; they
seem awful happy."

The Christmas week was one round
of pleasure, and the Blacks were loth
to go when it was over. Mrs. Rutledge
was very sad when her sister left, as she
thought it would probably be a long
time before they would meet again.

vf sh & % ♦

Time went on. Lincoln made rapid
progress in his studies. Mr. J. T.
Stuart, of Springfield, had given him
free use of his law books, and Abe
would often walk there, a distance of
some twenty miles, after one. Many
times, removing his shoes to save wear,
he would tie them together by the leather
strings and carry them over his arm.

Doctor Allen, who was the only
physician for miles around, was looked
upon as a sage :

33

Hinc0ln'£ f it$t Jtobe

"And still the wonder grew
That one small head could carry all he
knew."

This reputation the doctor greatly
enjoyed.

It was he who organized the first
Sunday school in New Salem. The
young folks looked forward to the Sun-
day meetings with much pleasure.

Ann had charge of a class in Sunday
school over which she presided with
grace and dignity. Quaint indeed did
she appear in the dunstable her mother
and grandmother had worn. It was cus-
tomary in those days for these bonnets
to pass from one generation to another.

In clear tones her contralto voice
filled the little church, as she led in
the singing, and moved more than one
young man to devotion.

One morning Mrs. Rutledge was
34

aineoln'g f itgt Jlotoe

churning, and she and Ann were so
busily talking they did not hear a rap
at the door. Susan Yardly walked in.

" You '11 excuse me, but I knocked
several times, and you did n't hear me,
so I just walked right in."

"Glad to see you," said Ann; "let
me take your bonnet."

" No," said Susan; " I must get back
home. I got to help ma with the iron-
ing. I Ve come to see if you would n't
like to go with us all a-blackberryin'
to-morrow."

" Who all ? " said Ann.

" Why, the Potters, Clarys, Arm-
strongs, and Watkins ; then there 's
some folks a-visitin' the Clarys, a young
fellow and his sister, from way up north
of here. They say he 's mighty good-
lookin'. I ain't seen neither of 'em
yet.

35

3LincoIn'£ f ir£t Hotoe

" Looks don't count for anything,"
said Ann.

" Well, will you go ? " said Sue.

"Yes, and I thank you for your
trouble."

" Trouble ! Why, blackberryin' or
nuthin' would be no fun without you.
The boys always say, first thing, f Is Ann
Rutledge goin'?' The berries are largest
and thickest in Uncle Lige Potter's
meadow, and that 's such a pretty place.
You know the old grapevine swing
there, near the spring, and then there 's
lots of pretty flowers that we don't have
around here. Them lady's slippers
grow thick down there. Well, I must
go home. We '11 meet you at the mill.
Good-bye."

" Good-bye, Sue. I '11 be there at
eight o'clock."

The next morning Ann was off on
36

Hincoin'£ f vc#t Jtobe

time, with a little splint basket her
mother had woven, swinging on her arm.
She heard the merry voices of her com-
panions as she neared the old mill, and
soon joined them.

" Ann, this is Harry Blunt and his
sister, Tillie," said Bob Clary, who felt
a secret satisfaction in having so well per-
formed the ceremony of introduction,
which he had many times rehearsed in
his mind. He thought Ann must
surely admire his self-possession and
dignity.

The picnickers did not mind the dust
and hot sun, nor the long walk, for when
they reached the meadow they found the
bushes heavily laden with rich, luscious
fruit, and they soon filled their baskets.
After resting awhile under the shade of
the old trees, " Let 's have a game of
fox and goose," said Susan. This was

37

tUncofa'g fitgt aiobe

no sooner proposed than the ring was
formed, and the young folks began mer-
rily chasing each other around the trees.
Harry Blunt asked Ann if she would n't
like a swing in the grapevine.

" Grapevines don't grow as big here,"
he said, "as on our place. Why, I 've
seen 'em bigger round than my arm."

Bob Clary and Dorothy Armstrong
were strolling along, when suddenly, at
the cry of "Snake! snake!" the girls
began to scream and the boys to scam-
per for sticks, stones, and other weapons.
Jim Armstrong became the hero of the
day, by his bravery and skill in killing
the rattlesnake. He slung it on a pole
and carried it quite a distance, much to
the dismay of the girls.

"It's pretty dusty. I guess I '11 hang
it on this here rail fence and bring
rain."

38

Xmcoln'0 f it$t Sotoe

" Oh, what a tall fence," said Tillie
Blunt.

"Yes, and Abe Lincoln split every
rail in it," said Rile Potter; "he's so
big and strong he can split a heap in a
day."

" They ought to call him the rail
splitter" said Tillie Blunt.

♦ & & & *h

One day in May, nearly a year later,
as Ann sat by the door stemming straw-
berries, a hand was laid on hers, and
looking up she saw a tall figure standing
by her.

u Why, Abe, how you frightened me !
I thought you were in Springfield. They
told me that you had gone there to live;
that you were not coming back here.
I thought I should never see you fishing
at the old mill again; and somehow,
Abe, it made me — made me — well,

39

flincoln^ f itgt atobe

feel kind of sorry, you know, for you
and I have always had such good times
together."

"Don't you think, Ann, that I will
ever go to Springfield, or anywhere else
to stay, as long as you are among the
dear old hills of Salem. For, darling,
do you not know that I love you? And
Ann, dear, won't you be my wife?
Don't you love me?"

She stood with her head leaning against
the door jamb, looking — looking — she
knew not where. But to her it seemed
straight into heaven. Abe put his arm
about her, and as she answered, " Yes,
I love you, and always shall," he
kissed her lips, her brown hair, and
her little brown hands, stained with
strawberries. The two stood silent for
some moments. The hills were pink

40

Hincoln^ f inert %o*t

with crab -apple blossoms, and their
perfume filled all the air.

" What must Heaven be, Ann, when
this world is so beautiful? I know that
the angels are like you, and since I have
your love I will be a better and hap-
pier man."

Mrs. Rutledge, who had been in the
garden gathering lettuce and radishes,
was surprised to see Abe, and knew
from his and Ann's manner that some-
thing unusual had occurred, but said
nothing about it.

" Well, so it hain't so that you 've
gone to Springfield to live, then, Abe? "

"No, not gone, but going. I have
a chance to study law there, so I think
I '11 try it. I shall miss the click of the
old mill, the rippling of the Sangamon,
the song of the thrush, but most of
all mv dear friends; and though I shall

41

Xincoht'0 f irgt Hotoe

be in Springfield, mv heart will be in
Salem."

" Here comes dad and Dave, and sup-
per ain't nigh ready. Have you got
them berries stemmed? "

"Just about, ma," replied Ann.

" I will help you," said Abe.

" Set the table fer five, Ann, fer Abe 's
got to stay; he ain't et here this long
time."

"Yes," said Mr. Rutledge, who had
just come in, cc and I '11 beat him at
a game of checkers."

An invitation, as it were, which could
not be declined. Abe won the first
game; and thereafter, Mr. Rutledge,
having won the next two games, thought
it time to quit. The evening was perfect.
Abe and Ann walked by the light of the
pale moon down by the river. He picked
up from the sand a flat stone, about eight

42

fiincoln'g f irjeft Jtobe

inches square, and laid it aside, saying,
" To-morrow I '11 carve upon this stone
the date of our betrothal."

A few davs later Lincoln bade fare-
well to the woman to whom he had
plighted his troth, and to the scenes
where were spent his happiest days; and
returned to his studies.

Ann found her mother and father
alone next morning.

"Did Abe get off, Ann?"

" Yes, dada; and some day I am going
with him, for yesterday he told me he
loved me better than all the world, and
asked me to be his wife. There, ma,
don't cry, I will come often to see you
and dada."

" Oh, Ann ! your dad and me loves
you so. Abe 's a good fellow, and I know
he '11 be kind to you. I hain't no objec-

43

3UncoIn'£ f irgt ilobe

tions to him, but it's hard to give you up.
Thar won't be no more singin' about the
house ; and all day, while dad and Dave
are in the field, I will be alone."

Ann glanced over at her father just
as he brushed a tear awav with his sleeve.
She went to him, put her arms around his
neck, and said: " Dada, you and ma
will come to see us; I will have one
room just for you, and we shall have
your visits to look forward to."

" Yes, Ann. I must not act this here
way ; I know now how your ma's folks
felt when I took her. Abe, I know,
is a mighty honest feller, and I 've
knowed fer a long time he loved you.
All I can say is, he is a lucky man."

After Lincoln left Salem, Ann was
never the same. She missed him, and
longed to hear his footstep on the old
walk leading to the house.

44

EincoitVg jfirgt Slotoe

She would often stand on the brow
of the hill, from where she could see
the cattle feeding in the green, shady
pastures, and hear the birds sing. There
was little beauty in the scene, or sweet-
ness in the robin's song.

And she would sing over and over
again the old song —

uYe banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, fu' o' care ? "

Lincoln's business kept him closely
confined ; but a few days before Ann's
twentieth birthday she received a letter
containing the happy news of her lover's
coming. He would be with her on the
fifteenth day of July, her birthday.
The hot summer days seemed to ex-
haust Ann, and she was unable to attend

45

Himoln'g tfh#t Eotoe

to the duties her mother had always
required of her, but she brightened up a
little at the thought of Abe's coming.

The long-expected day arrived. But
the tender heart of Lincoln sank within
him when he noted Ann's languid air and
sad eyes. She hoped that he would n't
notice that she was ill, but he knew it all
too well.

" Tell me, dear," he said, as they sat
on an old log by the river, " do you re-
gret the vow you made me ? "

" Oh, Abe! how can you speak so?
I should die if it were not for your love
for me ; it is all I live for. I am think-
ing of you all day, and every night I
dream of you. But, Abe, sometimes I
dream that in — in that great place where
you now live, you have forgotten poor
me and don't care to come to see me any

46

ilincoln'g tfitgt Eotoe

more. Then when I awake, I feel so
heavy-hearted."

" Look into my eyes, dearest, and
let me tell you that as God is my judge,
my love is all yours. My only thought
is of the happy time when I can take
you with me, transplant my little wild
rose of Salem to the city, where she will
still be the fairest of the fair."

" Now, dear Abe, I shall try never to
feel sad again, and not let that wretched
feeling, that soon we are to part forever,
come near me again."

" Do you remember the stone, Ann,
I told you I would engrave? Well, I
carved upon it — cAnn Rutledge and
Abraham Lincoln were betrothed May
5th, 1835/ I buried it at the corner of
the old store. There it shall stay until
our heads are silver-white, and we to-

47

aiincoln'g tfitgt Hotoe

gether will then unearth it, and you will
say to me, 'Abe, you have kept your
vow.'

" I must go back to Springfield to-
night, Ann, but before I leave you, you
must tell me when I may come for you.
Make it soon, dear. Shall it be next
month, in August ? "

" Oh, not so soon as that, Abe ; think
how lonely poor ma and dada would be."

" If you should wait a year they
would be just as loth to part with
you," he said. "You can come to see
them often, Ann."

" Well, when the maple leaves are
crimson, and the sunlight's hazy, too ;
when the cardinal flower's in blossom,
and the goldenrod hangs in rich yellow
plumes, I will go with you to our new
home ; but I shall never feel strange or

48

Hincoin'tf tfitgt %obt

lonely, because I shall have vou. I
shall be your wife."

" That means that I may come for
you in October. Uncle Peter Cart-
wright will marry us, and all will
be joy and happiness. Good night,
dear girl. When I come again, let me
find your eves bright and vour heart

light.-

He left Ann at her door, and mount-
ing his horse, rode away. She listened
to the sound of the horse's hoofs until
it died away in the distance, then went
to her little bedroom and knelt in
prayer, thanking God for the many
blessings she had received. She tucked
the little patch-work quilt about her
aching form, and sank down in her bed,
never to leave it.

For two long weeks she suffered.

49

%intoln'$ tfitgt Slotoe

Doctor Allen was summoned, but his
bitter doses were of no avail. Nothing
could assuage the high fever. She called
for Abe repeatedly, and they thought
best to send for him. Dave, riding one
horse and leading another, hurried off
to Springfield.

Just at ten o'clock the next morning
Abe and Dave entered Salem; and Abe,
in his anxiety, was not long in reaching
Ann's bedside.

" Oh, Abe, I am so glad you have
come, dear! " said Ann. " I thought I
must die without seeing you. I wanted
so to tell you not to grieve for me, and
to comfort ma and dada when I am
gone."

" Dear, you are not going to leave
me ! Why, I could not live without
you !

50

Hmcoln'g tfirgt %oht

" God knows better than we," she
said. " Sing to me, dear."

He knelt by her bed, and with trem-
bling voice sang her favorite hymn,

" God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform."

Lincoln sat by her all day, holding
her feverish hand. He would not leave
her a moment, nor did he eat anything.

Just at twilight, when the young moon
hung low and bright o'er the western
hills, and all nature seemed hushed
by the wonderful spell ; when father,
mother, brother, and lover were at her
side, Ann Rutledge, with a long, sad
look into the eyes of Abraham Lincoln,
passed into the spiritual world.

She was buried beneath an old elm-
tree in Concord churchyard, but the

5i

tincoin'g f it$t itobe

body was afterwards removed to the
new cemetery at Petersburg. After
the burial, Lincoln threw himself upon
the grave, saying these words :

" Here lies the body of Ann Rutledge,
and the heart of Abe Lincoln."

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